


i'm taking my time

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Shooting Guns, Violence, also anti-roan, like. extremely, this fic is extremely anti-clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: post 4x09.miller, Jackson, murphy & emori travel to polis to meet with clarke. murphy & polis don't mix well.title from "ride" by twenty one pilots.





	i'm taking my time

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey sorry this sucks but I've been awol so long figured I should post a thing so enjoy?

_“If you want to help, grab a weapon, stand a post.”_

_Murphy does want to help. He has only ever wanted to help, and yet - why is there always an ‘if’ attached to the statement?_

* * *

 

Polis looks the same as it did when Murphy last left it, which is to say it still looks like a flaming garbage can.

Fires flicker around them, casting eerie shadows in the evening light. “This isn’t the city I remember,” Emori whispers. Her unwrapped hand reaches up and grabs his shoulder, pressing, squeezing, searching for stability that he has never been able to give.

Trikru and Azgeda soldiers stand in seemingly misplaced places, guarding nothing and yet everything. The giant tower, still only a block down, leans farther to the right then it used to. A woman’s scream sounds in the distance. The rover sputters silent behind them, the only reminder that they do not come from here.

In other words, it is exactly the city that Murphy remembers.

* * *

 

_The chain tugs at his neck, pulling his body closer and forcing his mind away._

_It’s the only way he makes it through the night, through the - the - he doesn’t know the word. Maybe there isn’t one._

_Murphy keeps his mind hidden away, full of memories, full of faces he wishes to see just one more time -_

_She finally pushes his body away. He’s fairly certain his mind never came back._

* * *

 

“C’mon,” Miller says, taking large strides to place himself at the front of their small group. “Clarke’s waiting for us. We’ll be the last to arrive before the conclave.”

Clarke Griffin could go _fuck_ herself as far as Murphy is concerned, but he follows Miller regardless. They pass Grounder after Grounder after Grounder. None of them spare Murphy a second glance, but Emori quickly becomes the center of attention.

He supposes he is not the only one with bad memories attached to this place.

* * *

 

_One dark, stormy night, he told Bellamy all that happened to him when Titus tortured him. He told him of the questions, of the tactics, of the surrounding area and how to escape from it._

_Murphy left out how he screamed, howled, begged for mercy -_

_how he dropped to his knees in torment, ready to finally give in -_

_how he came to terms with his defeat too quickly -_

_how he was ready, right then and there, to pack it all up and try again in the next life._

_After all, he’s clearly gotten something horribly wrong this time around._

* * *

 

He should have known that it would all come back to the giant tower in the middle of this cursed city. He should have known he’d be back here.

“We really have to go all the way?” he whispers, mostly to himself, but Miller overhears.

“What’s your problem, Murphy? Too scared?”

“Watch your tongue, Nathan,” Murphy snaps, unwilling to meet his eyes. “You and I both know if things had been different-”

“Oh, it was one hook up, Murphy, get over yourself.”

“Hey, it was two.”

He’s right, because if things _had_ been different, then his boyfriend would have been the son of a guard captain and then he would not have been detained, and then - well, who knows.

Somehow, he knows Miller’s not willing to look at Murphy, either.

* * *

 

_It’s almost as if other people find Murphy’s voice more annoying than he himself does._

_Nevermind the hanging - he can forgive that, he can - but then, with_ her _chain around his neck and then in the elevator, the Grounder’s hand clasped around his throat, pushing on two already existing scars -_

_The world is determined to shut Murphy up for good. It doesn’t make much sense. He doesn’t have anything useful to say._

* * *

 

Emori senses his tension as they board the elevator, all packed up together like - what’s the Old Earth expression? Like sandals? Seashells? Survivors?

“This is meant to be a peace talk,” she reminds him. “There will be no fighting.”

“That’s what they always say,” he replies. Her grip tightens on his shoulder, and he appreciates it, he does, but all he can think about is last time he was here, when Bellamy’s hand was placed on his shoulder in the exact same way and dead bodies lay at their feet -

Murphy doesn’t care so much about the bodies, really. It’s the idea of death that gets to him, not the reality.

* * *

 

_“If you want to help, grab a weapon, stand a post.”_

_He wants to help. He does, he swears he does, but he doesn’t have any other weapon than his tongue and it’s not very strong anymore -_

_“Take mine.”_

_Bellamy’s words ring in his ears as his fingers slide around the cold surface of the gun. His hands find the right places to hold all too easily. It should not be this easy. It should never be this easy._

_“Take mine,” Bellamy tells him, and he takes this to heart. Maybe he abandoned his post. Maybe he wasn’t able to do the job. But he still keeps the gun._

_After all, he just wants to help._

* * *

 

When the elevator opens, and the large double doors open, they are greeted by only a few others. Clarke, Indra, Roan, Bellamy, and a few isolated soldiers stand in a rough circle, staring each other down, waiting to see if one of them will break. Clarke’s doing a particularly bad job of it, Murphy decides.

“These are my people,” Clarke says, nodding to Murphy’s group. “They can bear witness.”

“Good,” Indra says. “Now - Trikru, Azgeda, and Skaikru each has their leader present, as well as members of each clan to bear witness to this meeting. It is time to decide the rules for this conclave.”

“There are no rules,” Roan says dryly, although, everything he says sounds dry.

“If Azgeda wins, they retain control of the bunker. If Trikru wins, they receive the bunker,” Clarke says. She opens her mouth to say more, but then Murphy meets Bellamy’s eyes for a second too long and -

* * *

 

_He keeps the gun, hanging around his neck, stashed in the corner of the boat, in the corner of the lab, in the same corner where he stashed his mind -_

_He keeps it -_

_Even now, in this cursed city, he keeps it, out of cowardice or sheer ignorance of the circumstances Murphy doesn’t know anymore but -_

_He just wants to be helpful._

* * *

 

Murphy’s eyes meet Bellamy’s. His hands find the right spots on the gun all too easily. It lifts before anyone can notice what he’s doing.

“And if Skaikru wins,” Clarke is saying, “then we-”

A bullet lodges itself in her brain. Skaikru doesn’t win.

Roan and Indra stand frozen, slowly turning to face Murphy, clearly unsure if they should celebrate or riot. Miller’s got his own gun raised, but he doesn’t know where to aim. Emori’s hand does not leave Murphy’s shoulder. He’s fairly certain she’s smiling.

A second passes by, before Roan charges, a bullet fires, and he falls. His soldiers do nothing about it.

“Just try it,” Indra hisses, sword raised. She believes she’s next.

“I won’t,” Murphy promises. His gun lowers. Trikru wins - they’re the only ones deserving of a second chance, anyways.

The gun is ripped out of Murphy’s hands, but he couldn’t care less. His eyes sweep over the room, to the corner where he stood behind _her_ , to the place where _her_ body lay, to Clarke’s empty eyes and Roan’s frozen snarl.

* * *

 

_“If you want to help, grab a weapon, stand a post.”_

_I want to help, Murphy thinks. But not them. Never them._

_“Take mine.”_

_He already has._

* * *

 

Miller’s pushing him, escorting him out of the room, but before he succeeds Murphy risks a glance into Bellamy’s eyes.

**He’s smiling.**

**Author's Note:**

> btw murphy's trying to say "packed together like sardines" but that kid wouldn't know what a sardine was


End file.
